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Night has come. . . In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.

But my words find no such impediment.

They find their way at once ? Small wonder that! For 'tis within my heart they find their home ; Bethink how large my heart, how small your ear ! And, from fair heights descending, words fall fast, But mine must mount, Madame, and that takes time !

Meseems that your last words have learned to climb.

With practice such gymnastic grows less hard !

In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights !

True, far above ; at such a height 'twere death If a hard word from you fell on my heart.

I will come down. . ..

No !